


Forgive Me, Brother

by slightly_murderous_sorcerer (emerald_witch_esmeralda)



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: AU, I LOVE YOU TWO, I’m SO SORRY Philippe, I’m sorry Louis, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 23:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emerald_witch_esmeralda/pseuds/slightly_murderous_sorcerer
Summary: When Louis starts to go off the deep end, France isn’t just losing her Protestant people and her king...Philippe is losing his brother, it seems for good. A fire blazing around him, he is the only one who can stop it...but can he? Takes place during s3 of Versailles, angstiest shit I’ve ever written.





	Forgive Me, Brother

_”He’s gone too far. I can’t reach him anymore.”_

  


  


  
Even as Philippe whispered those words to his wife, his heart seemed to break all over again. He was used to heartbreak, this was nothing new. At this point, he should be immune to his brother disappointing him...but strangely enough, he wasn’t. It still hurt so badly every single time, like he would bleed to death with the pain of it. “Want me to beat his ass for you? Because I will totally beat his ass for you, he’s had it coming for a long time now.” Liselotte hissed, making Philippe chuckle wetly. As tempting as it was...”No. I don’t think that’s a good idea, wouldn’t want you to get thrown in prison or worse.”  


  
He barely registered the Chevalier gently lift his chin, blond curls gently brushing Philippe’s cheeks as his lover kissed his forehead. “Whatever your brother’s done to you, it’s a damned shame.” His tone sounded just as heartbroken as Philippe felt, he watched with blurred eyes as Liselotte and the Chevalier left him to his own devices. Uninhibited by drink or sex, he flopped backwards onto his bed and stared up at the ornately patterned ceiling. A dam seemed to burst within him, and he allowed himself to cry.  


  
He cried for himself, for all his thwarted attempts at being able to grow or flourish. For always being made second best, like the spare he was. For his own weakness in not being able to stand up to his brother when he most needed to. For the loyalty he’d shown to be thrown in his face time after time after time again, always leaving him open to get hurt because he was foolish enough to believe in second chances.  


  
He cried for the father that he had barely known but yet had grown to love in such a short amount of time, whose life was cruelly snatched away by politics, poison and paranoia. 

  
He cried for the love of his life, for not being able to love him the way he deserved because you couldn’t give away what you didn’t have inside you. He was no longer whole as war had made him all broken pieces and jagged edges rather than the glory he had sought, in absolutely no shape to properly love anyone even himself. His Chevalier deserved so much better, Liselotte deserved so much better. Their endless love and patience, even when he’d shoved them away. God willing, he’d be a better man for them.  


  
He cried for sweet, honest, fierce Liselotte, who was a godsend. For their beautiful little boy, snatched from her arms so cruelly.  
  
And perhaps most surprisingly (and yet most predictably) of all, he’d cried for Louis. For what they used to have. For the brother he’d grown up with...the one who would sneak into his room to cheer him up when he was grounded and bored. The one who would play with him even when he was sick. The one who let him sleep in his bed until they were both nearly twenty because they would both have nightmares. The one he could talk about boys with and be assured that secret would be kept. The one who even let him dress him up in his ribbons and skirts on occasion.  


  
But that wasn’t the Louis that stood before him now. Oh, all their lives he warred between brother and king. Having to choose between his throne and his family, tamping down his own emotions to become the perfect political machine. But deep down inside, his Lulu had still been there and that’s why he’d stood by him for so long. He’d appeared in vey rare glimpses lately, although more often when they set off to solve the Iron Mask mystery together. The search had brought them closer together and for the first time in a long time, Louis was just his brother and not his king. But when the mask came off, that’s when something changed inside of him. His brother was becoming something he couldn’t recognize...and now with this revoking of the Edict of Nantes, and killing their father?! Louis wasn’t Lulu anymore. He wasn’t even Louis, or the king.  


  
His big brother was gone. _Louis_ was gone, and he didn’t know what had appeared in his place but...scratch that, he actually _did_ know.  
A monster. One that was not only tearing himself and the people around him apart, but all of France. It had torn Philippe apart several times already and would consume and destroy until there was nothing left.  
_Whatever I do, I do for the good of France._ Louis had often said. Even when mixing the poisoned wine.  
_Regardless of our personal feelings, France comes first. Philippe, I will not let this kingdom fall. I don’t take pleasure in this but...I have to do this. I have to, it’s for France._ At that point, Philippe was convinced that Louis was trying to convince himself more than convince his brother. He considered reaching for the wine on his bedside table, but he was absolutely exhausted, almost as if he’d gone completely numb. Reaching over to put out the room’s one lit candle, sleep claimed him mercifully at last.  


  


  


  
“Ma petite fille.”  
“Maman?” Philippe muttered sleepily, tossing himself onto his side. His eyes forced themselves open, and there indeed she was. From her graying blonde hair to the lines around her icy blue eyes stood his mother, in a mercifully unstained nightgown...staring down at him. “But, you’re dead.”  
“Yes, Philippe. I am dead, my child. You were there.” Even though she was so close, Anne’s voice still sounded so very far away.  
“But then...what are you doing here? You can’t be here...it’s impossible for you to be here, you shouldn’t be here.” He frowned slightly, still not completely registering. “I must be either knocked the fuck out, or residually drunk from all the wine I had this morning.”  
“I came to warn you. I’ve been watching over the both of you, and you must save them, my son. You must save Louis...and France. They need your help, you’ve always had the biggest heart of the two of you. It must be you, I know you are the one to do this.”  
“Save Louis? Don’t you think I’ve tried?! How?! I can’t get through to him! I mean, haven’t you been watching over us?!”  
“Of course I have. Every single moment.”  
“Then what do you think I can do?! I mean I..”  
“Bring him peace. You must bring him peace. And as such, bring peace to the people. The people need you as much as your brother does, and perhaps more.”  


  
“Bring him peace? But...how?” Philippe’s eyes stared straight at Anne, and slowly turned cold. “You raised him to literally think that that he was a god upon earth and now you expect me to clean up your mess.” The prince stared at his mother, back straightened. “You were so busy cultivating a king, the man beneath was never fully formed. And as for me...deliberately lessening me, emasculating me, always making me see myself as inferior?! My whole life, you raised me to be the shadow while he was the sun! I was relegated to the darkness, never allowed to shine! And now Louis burns too hot, burning everything away, he’s been basking in the light for so long that he can no longer turn it off. I’ve become so cold, so dead inside that I don’t even recognize myself! Then you gave us into the hands of that horrid Cardinal Mazarin!”  
“Philippe...”  
“We are what we were formed to be. A man is what his mother makes him to be! Down to our education...I was never expected to know much.” Philippe’s hands clenched into a fist, tears stinging his raw eyes as they surfaced again. “And even Louis, he was only taught enough to not be a complete idiot! I was to be air-headed and silly while Louis was to be kept malleable for you and the Cardinal. All this time, we were never your children. We were just puppets kept deliberately stunted for your own purposes. You’ve _ruined_ us!”  
“I was trying to _protect_ the both of you, foolish boy!” Anne snapped, tears of her own brimming in the pale eyes both her sons inherited. Philippe gasped...he had never seen his mother cry, not even during the Fronde...she was always so strong. It actually kind of scared him to see that faint tremor wrack her spectral form. “I wanted to save you from the fate of Gaston and your father!”  
Philippe nodded his head, tears coming back to the surface. “And look how well that turned out.”  
“You’re right. This is my fault...but I cannot fix it now. You on the other hand, can.”  
“Why not? I mean, he always respected you. If you can appear to me, why not appear to him? He was always your favorite.”  
“He will not listen to me. I fear he has reached the point where he will not listen to reason any longer.”  
“What...what are you trying to say, Maman?” Philippe shuddered almost imperceptibly from the sudden chill that came over him, like a lump of ice had thudded its way down into his stomach. Anne couldn’t mean...?  
“Your own son.” Philippe croaked.  
“You think I wanted to come to this conclusion?! No! But...this is the only way. Before it’s too late for him, perhaps this way, he’ll have a chance to find peace on the other side.”  
“I’ve had enough of death for one week, thank you!” Philippe snapped, turning away from the shade of his mother. Anne merely looked at him sadly. “I am sorry to place this burden upon you. But think about it at least...if it isn’t you, it will be an angry mob. An assassin, like the one that took your grandfather. Call it a mother’s bias, but I still believe he deserves better than to be torn to pieces. Think on it, my son. I love you...and I hope you believe that, for it is the truth.”  
“Maman, wait!” Philippe turned around to see that nothing was there. That she was gone. Still in only his nightshirt, he shivered and sat on his bed for...he couldn’t really know because time stood still. He did know that he eventually threw a blanket over himself and went padding into Liselotte’s room where she was sound asleep. He reached out to shake her. “Liselotte?”  
“Philippe? What’s going on?” She sat up to look at her husband, who was dry-eyed and had a strangely determined cast to his face. “Louis...is falling apart. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. All I know is that if this keeps up, he’ll take us and all of France with him. I can’t let that happen; he wouldn’t want me to let it happen.”  
“What are you trying to say?”  
“I...I have to get help for him. I have to save him. And France.”  
“How do you plan to do that?”  
“I don’t know...but I will do it, I’ll set this right and you can be assured of that. For France, for us...and even for him. Can...can I stay here tonight? I can’t sleep.”  
“Of course you can.” Liselotte opened her arms and Philippe rested his head on his dear friend’s shoulder, limbs as heavy as a rock as sleep mercifully claimed him and numbed his senses into sweet darkness once more.  


  


  
He blinked his eyes open after what could’ve been either twenty minutes or an eternity later, Philippe had lost track of time once again to be sure. One thing he did know though, the moonlight shone through his eyelids and made it hard to sleep although Liselotte was mercifully snoring away. Taking a drink of wine straight out of the pitcher with trembling hands, he took a deep breath and sat on the edge of his bed, the silvery light giving him a ghost-like cast. Philippe pulled himself to his feet, looking at his wife before looking across the hall to where the Chevalier slept, a small smile coming over the prince’s face. Then his eyes looked out of the still-open door, the way to the king’s bedchamber. Even though he couldn’t see Louis, he knew somewhere the man was sleeping...or perhaps not sleeping in the very heart of his palace. He had his bed placed in the center because he was the center of the universe, the sun and the heart of France. Once, that heart was strong and warm and bright...now, as much as Philippe hated to admit it, the heart had become sick. Diseased. _Will we need to perform surgery after all?_ Reaching down, Philippe pulled on his breeches and boots, grabbed his cloak out of the door quiet as a shadow.  


  


  
“Highness?” The on-duty groom, a plump and chubby cheeked young man with thick hair that very much resembled he straw that he fed the royal horses yawned and rubbed sleep out of his eyes, confused to see the Prince there at the stables during such a time. It brought a soft smile to Philippe’s face, suddenly reminded of his brother as a child before his hair darkened and when Maman was too indulgent to curb the little king’s penchant for sweets. Philippe used to ask if his brother was called the sun because he was so round, and they got into quite a few scuffles over that. Fortunately Anne cracked down when Louis reached around eleven, he would be of marriageable age soon and we couldn’t have the king of France grow too fat to be desirable.  
“Prepare me a horse, Jean-Paul. I have a little bit of an errand to run.”  
“Of course, Your Grace. Does the king know?”  
“No, this errand is private. No need to trouble His Majesty over it. I’ll be back very shortly, I’m just running out. Saddle Gâteau for me.” Philippe took the reins as the black horse was quickly brought to him, patting the filly’s neck affectionately. “Hey girl, you miss me?” He swung himself up into the saddle and slowly trotted out toward the gates, the guards opening them for him as he disappeared into the night.  


  
The streets of Paris certainly were easier to navigate due to the new streetlights, he had to give his brother credit for that if nothing else. He recognized the house where Claudine had once lived, stopping shortly before it and giving it a long look before a wistful smile came to his face. He was brought back to himself by Gâteau’s whinny, steering himself down the road once more. It was quite eerie, the town was bustling once but now it was so quiet...now that so many Protestants were no longer in their homes and businesses. Louis thought he was freeing the country of discord, if he came down here for once he would see that it was devoid of life if anything. Soon, the lights ended and the corner of the city he was in was nearly pitch black...he had to get closer than he liked with his lantern before he recognized the wooden building, the place where the Chevalier once bought and traded his powders. Sometimes he bought powders and tinctures still, to light their tinders a bit more...but tonight was no amorous adventure.  
“Welcome, stranger.” A woman with light brown hair pulled back was sitting behind the counter, Philippe breathed a sigh of relief behind his cloak hood and mask...so his disguise was pretty solid. “I’m here for...I heard you sell powders and potions?”  
“You come to the right place...but I am curious as to what for. A young man like you surely doesn’t need chemical assistance? Something to increase fertility, perhaps? Maybe to help your wife quicken her womb.”  
“I am not here to create life.” Philippe said, purposefully disguising his voice. “I seek to end it.”  
“Ah.” A glint appeared in the woman’s dark eyes, and she reached underneath her counter before pulling out a wooden case in which assorted vials and bottles were nestled. “An enemy moves against you?”  
“Something like that.”  
“Perhaps you would like cobra venom? Melts the flesh from the inside out, makes the blood boil. Or perhaps arsenic, which slowly makes them shake like a leaf and stabs the stomach with pain...numbing the limbs.” She held up a small crystalline bottle filled with some white material. Philippe shook his head. “I don’t want there to be too much suffering...think of this as a mercy killing. You see, they’re very sick in a way and it’s spreading. They’ve become unrecognizable,I wish to end that suffering. Before more people get hurt.”  
“Ah.” The woman takes a vial from the very corner, filled with some dried herb. “Then this is probably what you seek...hemlock.”  
“Does it hurt?”  
“Not really. It usually causes death by spreading a numbness through the body and stopping the vitals one by one until finally the lungs close up, so pretty painless.”  
“Will it be...quick?”  
“About an hour or two, I believe. This selfsame herb killed Socrates.”  
“I’ll take it.”  


  


  
When Philippe rode back to the palace as quietly as he left it, his hand closed around the vial in his pocket and came away trembling. _Am I really...am I really going to do this right now? _It all still felt so surreal, now he had to make up an excuse to see the king. _I’m actually...oh God, I’m actually going to kill my own brother. I can’t believe I’m going through with this.___ As soon as he stepped foot into the privacy of his empty bedroom and closed the door behind him, Philippe collapsed into a flood of tears just behind the slab of wood that separated him from the rest of the world. He cried until he had no tears left, until his entire body felt hollow and numb. And it was with that same numbness that Philippe dragged himself up off the floor and walked toward his bedside table as if he had consumed hemlock himself. His body moving automatically as if somebody was pulling his strings, he poured two glasses of wine and stirred the hemlock into one of them, his mind in a completely different place than his body currently was. He had just put the cap on the vial when Louis came into the room wearing just his nightshirt, hair all awry and eyes that clearly had not closed in some time. All of that anger that had fled him came slowly boiling up to the surface again when he saw his brother’s face, until he met his eyes. They were red and swollen, as if he’d been crying as well and his skin was nearly ghost-pale. The king looked dead on his feet already, and Philippe was concerned. “Forgive me, Fifi.”  
“Huh?” Philippe didn’t know what he was more surprised by, his brother coming to his room suddenly in the middle of the night or Louis using his childhood nickname. “Forgive me...I had to do it. You don’t understand I, I _had_ to.”  
“What are you on about, Louis?”  
“I’ve been up for three days without sleep. You think it was easy for me to kill the man...”  
“ _Our father!”_  
“Fifi, he was a liability! He was...he was a danger! A danger to me, a danger to you whether you want to believe it or not! And a danger to the stability of France. I had to protect this family, this country! It’s...it’s my job!” Louis’ hands were trembling, and his eyes looked almost manic. “I just...I couldn’t get your face out of my mind, or your words. You asked which of us was Cain and which was Abel? I’ll be Cain if I must, but I will not let this country fall because it will take all of us with it. I never wished to hurt you...”  
“You never cared about doing it before, why is it different now? And if you come to me expecting me to be your confessor after what you did...”  
“As long as he was alive, the Vatican had him as a weapon against us. I removed the threat!”  
“You see everything as a threat...you’re acting hysterical!”  
“I’m fine! As you can very well see! And if I’m fine, France will be fine soon too!” Louis was far from fine, the grin on his face was far from reassuring and that look in his eye...this was a scary sight. Scarier than the task that Philippe had before him. Louis has finally completely and utterly lost himself, he could see the proof before his eyes now. Maman was right...he needed to end this right now. He had to save him, save them both. Louis was quickly going down a path that there was no returning from.  
_Forgive me...Lulu._ “Here, I have some wine prepared. Take a glass, you clearly need it.”  
“I need all my wits about me.”  
“You need sleep, and this will help you get it. Now here, take a sip.” Philippe handed out the glass of dark red liquid and Louis appeared for several moments as if he were staring at his own blood before plucking the glass out of his brother’s hand, sitting down on the floor where Philippe was now.  
“Hey, Fifi?”  
“You haven’t called me that in so long...” Philippe closed his eyes. “What is it?” It physically hurt to watch Louis take sip after sip from that glass, every sip felt like a knife to Philippe.  
“Remember when we snuck raspberry tarts from the kitchens and Maman was absolutely furious with us?” A soft smile appeared on the king’s face, for the briefest of moments his Lulu was back. “Yeah, and remember when you hid me in your wardrobe so I wouldn’t get in trouble?” Philippe chuckled, causing Louis to laugh too until he coughed.  
“Brother?”  
“I’m fine. It’s just...a bit of a tickle in my throat, is all.” Louis cleared his throat again, but it seemed like it wasn’t working. “Anyway, what about the time you took the fall for me when I was caught in the Spanish ambassador’s daughter’s rooms? My hands are going numb...I must be more tired than I thought.”  
“Maman knew I was bluffing, but I doubted she wanted to punish you.”  
Philippe chimed in, looking at his brother. “What happened to us, Lulu? We loved each other once...when did you cease loving me?” He asked heavily.  
“You haven’t called me that in so long.” Both brothers sounded equally sad in tone. “Anyway, I never ceased loving you. I’m sorry I hadn’t been showing it to you enough but I had to do what I had to do...we got older, and I became king...” Louis erupted into another fit of coughing, trying to take another sip of his wine before the glass slipper from his hand and shattered onto the floor. “I...I can’t breathe.” Another round of coughing and Philippe goes over to him, catching Louis when he collapses in his arms. “I can’t feel...Fifi, help me! I can’t feel my face!” Philippe merely held him, tears rushing to his eyes and falling onto the king’s face.  
“Forgive me, Lulu. Forgive me! I...you left me no choice! I had to, I...” Louis’ coughing had slowed, and now he was coughing occasionally with deep gasping breaths trying to force air into his lungs. Air that he wasn’t getting. His skin was taking on a slight bluish tinge. Those piercing blue eyes locked on his brother and his lips moved. Philippe leaned down to hear what Louis was trying to croak out. “Forgive me...Fifi.”  
“Always.” Philippe whispered, voice breaking when the king finally went limp in his arms, he heard no more breaths. A slow, loud wail that built up into a scream suddenly echoed around the room, and Philippe took a while to register that it came from his own throat. He just clutched Louis’ body to him and sobbed. “Forgive me, brother. Forgive me.”  


__  
_ _

__  
_ _

____  
“Thank you, ma petite fille.” Philippe looked up, blinking back tears to see his mother appear before him again with a sad and tremulous smile. “Very few would’ve had the courage to do what you did.”  
“I don’t know why you’re thanking me. I mean I just killed your favorite son.”  
“On the contrary, you gave him back to me.” Philippe could hardly believe his eyes when Louis...no, this couldn’t be Louis. Louis was dead, his dead body was in Philippe’s arms as they spoke. No, this must’ve been Louis’ ghost, and he stepped up right behind Anne. “As for you, Louis! You ought to be ashamed, you’ve been a _very_ naughty boy while I was gone, haven’t you?”  
“I’m sorry, Maman.” It would’ve been amusing if the situation weren’t so damn terrible, seeing the Sun King look down at his shoes while being reprimanded by his mother like a five year old.  
“You’ll have a lot to answer for when we get before the family...but you’ll always be mon petit roi.” Louis smiled slightly when he felt a comforting hand on his cheek but it was wiped off his face immediately by Anne’s look. “You are in _so_ much trouble, I hope you know that! Persecuting people for religion, I didn’t raise you like this! Now get over here, they’re waiting for us.” Anne grabbed Louis’ arm and pulled him along with her, Louis turned briefly to look at his brother still in his spot on the floor. The brothers stated at each other, not speaking before Louis broke the silence. “Thank you, Fifi.”  
“For poisoning you? Anytime. I mean you had it a long time coming anyhow.” Philippe said, full of snark.  
“For releasing me, I suppose.”  
Anne laughed at her son’s remark. “Never change, Fifi.” “So...now that that’s done, I’m once again left alone to deal with the aftermath.” “Of course not. I’ll always be here with you, whenever you need to speak with me just call. I’ll appear to you and check on you to make sure you’re alright.”  
“That...actually makes me feel better.” “Anytime.” Anne and Louis finally turned from him and walked away hand in hand before suddenly disappearing into thin air. Philippe pulled himself to his feet, trembling slightly. The court would find out about the king’s heart attack before the sun came up, might as well tell them and get the worst part out of the way, while the evidence of him violently sobbing was still on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Delphes on Tumblr calls Philippe Fifi, so that’s where I got the idea for the nicknames from (and her and some people call Louis Loulou, but I prefer the other spelling), so shoutout to her.


End file.
